Cruel Torture, Unusual Punishment
by DragonRidingSorceress
Summary: Can sex be used as an instrument of torture? Vader/Padme. Padme corruption fic. Rated for sexual scenes and potentially violence. Not suitable for children.
1. Interrogation

_**Cruel Torture, Unusual Punishment**_

Summary: Vader/Padme. Can sex be used as an instrument of torture? Padme corruption fic.

_**Chapter One**_

The report was promising. They'd managed to capture a valuable rebel - one of the Black Widows. Vader was looking forward to interrogating the scum. These women joined the Rebellion, citing grievances against the Empire, and became like demons. This was the first time they had managed to capture one of the warrior-women, and with luck, she would lead him to the rest.

The door slid open before him, and Lord Vader stepped confidently into the cell.

And stopped dead.

The rebel stretched out on the table wasn't just a Black Widow.

It was Padme.

This would make things… interesting.

He admired the curves of her body, as he had often done. Stretched out as she was – hands and feet cuffed to each corner of the table – he had an unparalleled view. Gravity obligingly molded her loose white top to the profile of her torso. Apparently, she was cold.

Vader felt a stirring of emotions within him – a mix of lust and hate, he told himself. She had betrayed him, had joined with Obi-Wan against him… He had no love left for her.

She had yet to acknowledge his presence – in fact, she seemed to be quite determinedly ignoring him. He knew she was aware of him. His mechanical breathing was harsh and loud; there was no way she could ignore it.

"Now, Lady Amidala, we shall discuss the location of the rebel base."

Finally, she turned to look at him. Something flashed behind her eyes, just for a moment, and then her gaze turned dull. "I won't break under torture," she informed him, as calmly as if disagreeing with his choice of breakfast food.

Vader knew it was true. She'd always been stubborn, willful… And she would have undertaken training as Queen of Naboo, then as Senator, to resist torture. The rebels, too, would have been foolish not to work on reinforcing her defenses.

He would have to be inventive.

Padme turned her gaze back to the dull grey ceiling. Would Vader be harsher, or gentler with her than another imperial? From all indications, harsher. She steeled herself to bear the pain. She'd borne worse pain than anything he could inflict on her now. She had watched her husband's love turn to hatred; had seen him betray and destroy all that she held dear. She had lost her new-born children, her hope for a better future.

She was so focused on blocking pain, on blocking any Force-driven attacks on her shields, that she didn't realize what she felt at first.

A shiver ran down her spine. She gasped as a feather-light, phantom touch brushed the soft, sensitive skin of her neck.

"No…" she breathed, as the touch ghosted downwards. Immaterial hands began to caress and tease at the soft mounds of flesh, and her body bucked against her will.

Suddenly Vader was close. He had not yet touched her – not physically. "But you loved this," he whispered – she hadn't known he could whisper, with that new, deep, booming voice of his, she thought, desperately trying to distract herself.

She failed. A whimper broke between her lips when the hands danced along her inner thighs. "No!" she cried again, begging this time.

"Will you tell me the location of the rebel base?"

She pressed her lips firmly together. She couldn't reveal that secret.

"Well, then…"

Ghostly fingers began to flit lightly over her clitoris. Padme gasped, her hips bucking upwards. The fingers sped up, as though sensing the mounting tension in her body. Her hands twisted to grab at the chains snaking away from her wrists, grasping them tightly. Her breathing came fast and ragged. She tensed, on the verge of exploding into ecstasy –

The fingers stopped. She collapsed onto the bench, shaking violently.

"Padme, you only have to tell me where the rebel base is," came Vader's whisper. She didn't open her eyes – she couldn't remember closing them. She didn't answer, either; she simply lay there, shaking and gasping for breath.

The fingers started to brush against her clitoris again, feather-light and terribly, terribly slowly. "I know how this drives you mad," Vader murmured. "I remember, oh so many times…"

Padme remembered, too. Remembered how Anakin would tease her and tease her and tease her… It always made the ending, her eventual release, much better – more satisfying. She remembered. She knew. But she didn't like the way she felt in the interim – all strung out, craving the orgasm she had been denied over and over again…

The fingers sped up once more. The gasps came more unevenly.

"The rebel base, Padme. Where is it?"

She shook her head. It wasn't as if she could speak, even if she were inclined to offer up the information.

Finally, she felt him brush against her mental shields. It was so familiar… and yet, at the same time, so dark and twisted, it was almost unrecognizable.

"Just think it, Padme. Lower your shields, and let me see. Then you will get what you want."

Her body was beginning to tense. She was so close to release…

"No…" She had to force the syllable out, between desperate gulps of air.

And then she was collapsing, lying on the table and shivering. The phantom hands were gone.

"I know you want this Padme. Why deny yourself?"

Real hands touched her this time – hands too big, too cold. The other hands had been her Anakin's, those ghost hands. The leather-clad, mechanical fingers now tracing gentle patterns on her neck belonged to a monster.

"That… isn't… what I want!" The words had started out gasping, but she quickly gained fire. Her eyes snapped open, and she glared up at the black-suited Sith. "I want a return to the democracy I worked so hard to preserve!" The words were delivered with as much force as she could give them – despite the fact there wasn't enough oxygen in her system. "I want the husband who loved me. I want the children I lost because of the evil being who tried to kill me." Vader flinched. He hadn't known about that, apparently. If she hadn't been so taut with want, she might have felt triumphant over it.

Vader turned on his heel and walked out. "Return the prisoner to her cell," he ordered the stormtroopers standing rigidly to attention just outside.

Padme had lost the baby. _Babies_, apparently.

At first, he'd thought she was dead. Palpatine had told him so. But then reports had started to filter in – mere rumours, at first. Finally, there'd been confirmation. Padme Amidala was with the Rebellion.

_Padme Amidala was alive._

So he'd sent out agents, trying to find any information, any rumour, any hint of a rumour, about his child. They'd found nothing, in three years of searching.

Now he knew why.


	2. Frustration

A/N: Just a short one, because it's exam block, and I shouldn't be writing at all.

_**Chapter Two**_

The air was cold against Padme's flushed skin. But that was not what made her shiver. It was the unfulfilled desire that coursed through her, the tension, that made her shake. Each step she took was agonising, as she wondered if her legs would hold her.

The stormtroopers who flanked her hadn't deigned - or perhaps, hadn't dared - to comment.

At the end of a too-long walk, one of the troopers unclasped her binders. She stepped into a small, bleak cell, and staggered to the hard bench at its centre. She lay down, curling up as she did so.

Almost of its own volition, her hand twitched towards the waistline of her pants. With a conscious effort, Padme stilled it. She was a prisoner in an imperial cell. There would be cameras, if not hidden microphones.

But she ached with the want…

She let her hand slip inside her pants.

She moved slowly, carefully, not wanting to reveal anything to the hidden cameras.

Her hands mimicked Vader's ghostly ones. A single fingertip flickered against her clitoris. A gasp escaped her lips. With Vader's teasing, her clitoris was swollen and supremely sensitive. Padme forced herself to endure a few more quick, light strokes. By this point, cameras and microphones were forgotten. Her eyes were closed, and she moaned and twitched at each touch.

Padme reached a little further, using two fingers to spread her lips. She touched her middle finger against the moist opening that hid there. Ever so slowly, she pressed the finger inside, curling it to strike her g-spot…

--

For the second time in his life, Darth Vader found himself obsessed with Padme Amidala. His every thought strayed to her – the fall of her dark hair, the curve of her soft lips, the shape of her body…

He had retired to his quarters, determined to put her out of his mind. An unfinished report was open on the screen in front of him. The Emperor rarely requested he put his reports into writing, but on this occasion, he'd made an exception.

But Vader found he couldn't concentrate on the report. His hands were still, hovering over the keyboard, as he tried to pretend he hadn't already decided on his next course of action.

He swiftly gave in to his desire.

A new window opened. There was Padme, curled up tightly on the bench in her cell. Vader stared at her. Even through his red-tinted lenses, even as she huddled in a cell, she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

Suddenly, she twitched. Her tightly curled position relaxed, ever so slightly.

Then she did it again.

Vader activated sound from the cell's microphones just as Padme moaned again. She was uncurled enough now that Vader could see the reason why.

He felt his ruined body struggling to react to the sight.

She twitched just once more, then seemed to pause in the rhythm. Then the moans turned into low shouts, and instead of just twitching, she was bucking.

Very soon, her whole body arched, then shuddered into relaxed stillness.

Vader, however, was left feeling very tense and frustrated.

--

A/N: I hesitate to put a time limit, but I _should _be able to get a new chapter up by mid July, if anyone's still interested. But don't hold me to that.


	3. Relocation

A/N: When I say that Vader 'feels', I mean the sensors in his mechanical limbs are reporting back. I use the word 'feel' because it makes the story flow. Now that that confusion is cleared…

***

A cold night on the hard slab-bed of her cell had done nothing good for Padme's aching body.

The battle she had been taken in had been a brutal, close-quarters struggles. Her capture had not been gentle, either.

Nor had Vader's unusual method of torture helped.

She could feel each muscle protesting. Her arms were fastened before her once more. Her back also panged with every step. Her legs were sore and shaking, and only determination – and a stormtrooper's hand on each elbow – kept her on her feet as she was lead, blind-folded, through the corridors of Vader's ship.

A door hissed open. She felt the stormtroopers around her snap to attention.

And of course, she could hear Vader's harsh, mechanical breathing.

***

Padme had what he called her 'politician's face' on. Even with her eyes obscured by the blindfold, he could tell. It was more than just her expression. It was her very posture, the proud way she held her head, the furious pursing of her soft lips…

"Leave us," he ordered the troopers. They saluted and obeyed. Vader wished he could as easily dismiss his burning desire to feel Padme's lips against his…

But it was impossible. Worse; such a desire was a sign of weakness.

He let his gaze take in the beautiful, stubborn woman before him.

He would have to punish her for stirring such emotions within him.

Reaching out, he firmly gripped her upper arm. She had further to travel before he could teach her a lesson.

***

The walk was almost silent. It was also straight, and blessedly short. The troopers had taken a twisting, turning route, as though trying to ensure she was lost.

Padme wasn't sure why they bothered. The only places on the ship she'd been were her cell and the torture chamber. She wasn't overly eager to return to either.

Two doors later, they stopped.

Padme felt herself scooped up into Vader's arms. She cried out in shock –

- and landed flat on a soft surface. Her hands strained against the binders; she wanted to balance herself.

The surface seemed to dip, just a little, near her feet. Then she felt Vader's hand reaching up, under her shirt.

"No!" Padme pushed away with her legs, but it was useless. Vader could – and did – hold her still with one hand on her kneecap. She tried to keep him out by pressing her bound hands tight against her stomach, but that, too, failed. He just lifted them with a whisper of the Force. Then, he reached her breasts. His hand moved gently, stroking her nipples until, against her will, they hardened. Padme couldn't help the little moans that escaped her lips. Her body tautened as his ministrations continued. Anakin had always loved how sensitive her breasts were; how he could bring her to orgasm if he stroked them in just the right way. He had lost none of his touch. The tension mounted in her body, and she was close, so very close –

The hand withdrew, and rested on her other knee. She lay there, gasping for breath.

Vader spread her legs simply by moving his hands apart. Again, Padme protested violently, "No!"

But she was too late. He now knelt between her legs, hands still resting on her kneecaps, keeping her still with almost no effort on his part. He slid his hands upwards, tracing slow, swirling patterns through her pants. He paused at her inner thighs, knowing it would drive her mad.

Padme's mental shields were strong, and Vader could not hear her thoughts. But he could sense her emotions. She was warring within herself. Part of her wanted his touch, wanted the true release she knew he could give her. But she also hated him, hated everything he stood for, hated everything he had done to her, and felt violated by his control over her.

Vader didn't know which feeling he wanted to win. Both appealed to different parts of his nature. The part that loved her still wanted to please her, to give her the release she craved. The darkest heart of Darth Vader reveled in her revulsion, and the undertones of fear and anger it carried with it.

His dilemma was lessened, though. Both sides of him demanded the same physical acts.

Through her pants, he traced up the leg lines of her panties. She twitched and gasped. He trailed his hands a little further, to her waistline. He lifted her, ever so slightly with the Force, and pulled the pants away.

"No!"

Vader shook his head, tracing along the elastic of her plain, white panties. Hadn't she learnt yet? "Your protests do nothing to help you."

Lining up his hand with her bellybutton, he slid his finger down the centre-line of her body. Her breath hissed satisfyingly as his fingertip glided over her clitoris. Slightly lower, he pressed his finger inwards. He was gratified to feel wetness through the fabric, and hear Padme's mewling cry.

The finger traced the same path upwards again. Padme inwardly cursed as some primeval instinct made her hips buck in reply.

As if to admonish her eagerness, Vader repeated the motion. Again, her hips lifted, seemingly of their own accord.

Vader took advantage of it, hooking his fingers into the waistband, and pulling away the undergarment. "No…" The protest was weaker this time. Padme tried to pull her legs up, in a vain effort at protection. The Sith caught her legs and forced them down.

A sudden breath of cold on her heated, sensitive flesh made Padme cry out once more. Pleased by her response, Vader flicked another Force-driven pulse of air at her.

His thumb followed, pressing against her wet opening, but not penetrating. He lifted his hand to rest on her curls, and flicked his now-moist thumb over her clitoris. Padme twitched, a moan escaping her lips. The moisture heightened the already intense sensation. Vader kept going, alternating every few strokes between flicking and circling motions.

Again, tension mounted in Padme's body. Each stroke brought her closer and closer to fulfillment. Her moans had turned to cries. _Please_, she thought. _Please please please please please…_

She was right on the brink when he stopped, pulling his hand away.

Her cry turned into a sob. Tears welled under the blindfold. In a strangled voice, she forced out, "Please, Anakin…"

There was silence, punctuated only by their breathing – his even and controlled; hers desperate and ragged.

And he wasn't touching her.

"Anakin Skywalker is dead."

A finger pressed inside her, too fast, too hard. She cried out in pain.

"You will call me Vader."

A second finger followed the first. In and out they pressed, hitting against her g-spot again and again.

_so close so close so close so close don't stop please please don't stop no don't no!_

"Say my name."

He was so unnaturally still. The fingers were inside her yet. If she could just buck her hips a little –

But Vader held her fast with the Force.

"Say my name."

"An-ak-in," she gasped.

The torture continued. Sometimes he would twist his fingers; sometimes he would stroke; more often he would press, in-out in-out… Padme didn't care to count how many times he brought her to breaking point, then stopped, making his demand. She answered "Anakin" a few times more, then simply refused to answer.

Vader could feel her resolve crumble each time she was denied. She would eventually break, he knew.

He was right. He twisted his fingers, then pressed hard against her g-spot. He was about to stop yet again, when she caved.

"Vader…"

One more stroke sent her over the edge.

When her screams stopped and she lay still, panting, Vader withdrew his fingers. They glistened with her wetness.

Rising from the bed, Vader moved quietly to stand beside her head. He pressed his fingers against her partly-open lips. He couldn't kiss her. This would have to do.

Exhausted, unable to fight him, Padme opened her mouth. Docilely, she sucked his fingers clean. Then he pulled away.

Footsteps. The hiss of a door. The binders unfastened themselves and flew to Vader's outstretched hand.

"Welcome to your new home."

He was gone before she had the blindfold off.


	4. Interruption

Her new quarters were plain, yet larger than Padme would have expected on a military spaceship. She had a decently comfortable cot, a little room to move around in, and an attached fresher. A flap had been cut in her door, presumably so food could be passed through. There was no computer terminal. The panel that would usually have controlled the door was conspicuous by its absence. Not that that was surprising; after all, she was still a prisoner.

They'd moved her just before a sleep shift, apparently, because soon after Vader had left, the lights had dimmed. She'd slept a little, but not deeply. Her inner clock was off.

She remembered once jokingly complaining to Ani that ship lag was torture, and wondered if he remembered it, too.

Some time later (roughly eight hours, she guessed, though she couldn't really be sure) the lights had brightened. Groggily, she decided she needed a shower.

As she stepped under the water, she noticed a movement in the corner of her eye. A small droid had appeared, and it busily scampered around the tiled floor, setting out a towel for her. She washed quickly and efficiently, reminded by its presence that Vader's cameras would be watching her. As she towelled off, she realised the little droid had made off with her clothes.

Livid, and blushing furiously, she'd exited the fresher to find her breakfast – a mushy porridge that she knew was probably full of essential vitamins and minerals, yet managed to taste vaguely like mud – and a change of clothes.

The clothes were... problematic.

They were simple, imperial grey. And yet...

A skirt. A _short_ skirt. And an indecently low-cut top. She felt like screaming. Damn Vader! He'd done this on purpose!

But she had no choice. What else was she to do, stay wrapped in her towel all day? And then she realised something that caused all the blood to drain from her face. The pile of clothes distinctly lacked underwear.

Padme was slumped on the bed, head held in her hands. She had been pacing earlier, but had slowly run out of steam. Not that she wasn't still furious; just that there was nothing she could do about it. Yet.

The door slid open. Vader's imposing silhouette stood in the open frame. Padme leapt to her feet, fists clenched. "How dare you?" she demanded, voice ringing out as though she stood in the Senate Hall once more. She strode forward, not quite sure what she would do when she reached him, but determined that it would be painful.

She never reached him. Invisible hands seized her wrists, halting her movement. "Will you never learn?"

As she glared impotently, he stepped towards her. "I _dare_," he said ominously, "because you are _mine_."

He cupped his hand under her chin. "You are my wife. You are also a traitor to the Empire. As such, you have no rights."

A defiant gleam shone in Padme's eyes. "I'm your slave?"

Vader moved faster than she would have expected. He grabbed her shoulders, shoving her backwards. She stumbled, sprawling onto the bed. She could feel the anger emanating from the Sith.

"You don't seem to understand your situation." It was as if a weight was pressing down on her, forcing her to be still. "You will eat what and when I tell you. You will wear what I tell you." A dark glove came to rest on her thigh, just shy of the too-short hem of her skirt. "And you will _scream_ –" The gloved hand slid upward, brushing against tender flesh. Despite herself, Padme gasped. "- when I want you to."

"So that's a yes, then?"

Her next cry was one of pain as Vader forcefully pressed a gloved finger into her. He twisted it violently, and she screamed again. She wasn't ready, and it hurt.

Vader was still, watching her gasp for breath. Slowly this time, he curled his finger up, toward her g-spot, rubbing against it gently. Although he couldn't feel it, he knew she would be growing wetter with each stroke.

Padme struggled, trying to pull away. The weight she felt pressing down on her seemed to grow lighter, and she seized her chance. She threw herself backwards, dislodging his hand – and smacking her head against the bulkhead behind her.

Vader let out a low, primal growl. He grabbed Padme by the waist, and threw her so she lay on the bed properly. With a twist of the Force, he lifted her hands above her head. He removed two pairs of binders from his belt and threw them into the air. Wide-eyed, Padme watched as they floated above her, and felt one fasten about each wrist. She tugged against them when she felt Vader's Force-hold release, to no avail. They clanged against the posts of the cot.

Then, to her horror, Vader turned and walked away. There was a swoosh as the door opened, then another as it closed, and she was left alone.

She had about a minute to panic, before the door opened again and Vader stood over her once more. Relief and dread warred for dominance in her mind.

Dread won as she felt his hand grasp her ankle. With a cry of shock and rage, she kicked out, trying in vain to loosen his grasp. A third binder clanged shut around her ankle, fastening it to the nearest corner post.

A feeling of desperation overcame her as Vader reached for her last free limb. She couldn't let him do it! She had to fight him!

But her struggles were useless, of course. She was soon bound, helplessly spreadeagled on the bed.

Vader looked down at her, watching her fight against her chains. Reaching out, he traced the plunging neckline of her shirt. Her startled gasp was most satisfying. He brushed the back of his hand down, over the nipple he could see through the grey material. When she twitched, he began caressing her breast, occasionally rolling her nipple between two fingers – a little too hard, perhaps, for her moans would become pained.

With his other hand, he reached under her skirt, sliding his fingertip between her lips, then slowly tracing up and down, feeling her twitch each time he paused over her clitoris.

Against her will, Padme was writhing in pleasure. With each passing second, the intensity of her need grew, until she was so close...

Vader froze, pulling away from her. With a moan of despair, Padme shuddered into stillness. As if channeling her frustration, the whole room seemed to shake. Vader, now upright, stumbled. His comm chimed, and a voice rang out, "Lord Vader to the bridge. The Rebels are attacking."

Tears of frustration pooled in Padme's eyes as, for a second time, Vader left.

Some hours later, after her tears had dried and her frustration had faded to a dull ache, Padme heard a metallic click. It was echoed by eight more, and then the binders holding her down released, flying out of sight. She pushed herself up as quickly as she could, groaning at stiffened muscles, just in time to see a dark-gloved hand catch the binders as they flew through her feeding cat-flap. It clicked closed, then opened again, and a tray with food was pushed through.

It closed again, and Padme knew she was alone.

A/N: Ship lag = jet lag. As for Vader having 2 pairs of cuffs on him, it seemed reasonable to me.


	5. Illusion

Vader entered the room and stopped.

Padme was stretched out on the bed, fast asleep, one arm thrown over her eyes to shield them from the too-bright light. There was a hint of a smile on her face, and she seemed so relaxed and at peace...

A single sheet was draped over her. With the Force, he lifted it, revealing her naked body. Something stirred within him. Padme was just as beautiful now as the first time he had seen her. He let his eyes roam her body, memorising every curve.

He dimmed the lights for her without a thought. Then, lost in the moment, he reached out, cupping her breast in his hand. When she didn't wake to protest, he began to rub gently, eliciting a soft moan. Yet still she slept on.

***

_Padme smiled when the rain started, pressing one eager hand against her window. She loved the rain. It washed away troubles, leaving the world pure and clean._

_(-and yet it wasn't right, it wasn't right, this strange rain. It was too regular. It seemed to hiss, then pause, then hiss again-)_

_And then he was there, her Ani._

_(-not her Ani. Her Ani was dead. She wasn't safe, she shouldn't stay, she had to get away -)_

_She could feel his gaze on her, so she turned to him, smiling. He stepped closer, a hunger in his eyes that she knew so well, loved so well. Her body responded to it out of habit; a moist warmth pooled between her legs._

_His lips pressed against hers, and suddenly she was naked before him. She felt his hand cup her breast, rubbing softly, and she moaned in delight._

_(-No! This is wrong! This is not his hand! It can't be, it's too big, too cold-)_

_And then both his hands were on her, rubbing, teasing, gently rolling her hardening nipples between two fingers, and she moaned and gasped, leaning back against the window as she felt herself peak, felt herself arch and scream..._

_The hands were there still, caressing her, holding her. The slowly moved down, tracing patterns on her sensitive flesh so that she shivered and gasped._

_He was a tease, her Ani._

_(-not her Ani-)_

_He traced patterns on her inner thighs, knowing full well that it drove her insane. She looked down at him, kneeling in front of her, grinning up at her, marvelling at his power over her._

_(-"You will scream when I want you to," the dark voice intoned-)_

"_Please," she gasped desperately._

_His grin seemed to widen. "As you wish, my lady."_

_And the dancing fingers moved inwards, combing dark curls, parting tender flesh and stroking ever-so-slowly at just the right spot-_

_She screamed again, eyes fluttering closed, but he wasn't done with her. He slipped his finger inside her and she moaned again. He knew what to do, he'd done it so many times before, to make her scream..._

_Her body trembled with pleasure as he brought her to orgasm, again and again, until only the window behind her and his hand on her hip kept her upright. His finger stilled, yet remained inside her, and she let herself float on a cloud of delicious ecstasy._

"_I love you, Padme," he said, his voice soft and sure and warm. He held her cheek in his hand softly._

_(-a hand too large, it's not him, not Ani-)_

_Smiling lazily, she nuzzled his hand and answered._

_***_

"Love you too, Ani."

Her murmured reply froze Vader. He stared at her as she, still asleep, turned her head just enough to kiss the hand that cupped her face.

_She loves me._

_No, she loves Anakin Skywalker._

_I _am _Anakin Skywalker._

_Anakin Skywalker is _dead_!_

Slowly, he drew his finger out, and heard disappointment in her moan.

He stood and walked out, forcing himself not to look back until he heard the door slide shut behind him.

***

Padme woke some time later, when the lights grew bright again. She yawned, and smiled contentedly to herself. Her rest had been refreshing, and her dream...

Her smile widened as she remembered her dream. It had been so vivid, and unbelievably satisfying. She stretched languidly, ignoring the little voice in her head that was trying to remind her of the danger she was in. She wanted to enjoy her dream a little longer.

***

A/N: So, dear readers, I need your opinions. Do you want something resembling a plot in this story, or do you just want smut?


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